A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square
by C-Swag
Summary: After angels dined at the Ritz and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square...


Title: A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley  
Rating: PG (K, I think? Whatever.)  
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley  
Challenges: None  
Summary: Takes place on Sunday, the first day of the rest of their lives, after Aziraphale and Crowley have lunch at the Ritz.  
Dedication: For Carol and Liz, who suggested - no, _forced_ - me to read this book. I don't regret it.

After lunch, they had nothing to do and nowhere to go, so they went back to the park. Neither of them heard the nightingale, but it had been there all the same. It was a good omen - a reminder that everything happens for a reason.

And they strolled casually side-by-side, close enough so that their hands brushed, and made small talk, and eventually settled under a sweeping weeping willow, sprawled in the shade, a pregnant silence descending between them.

Crowley hesitated, then spoke. "Aziraphale?"

"Yes."

"Do you think...?"

The angel frowned. "I don't know."

"Then should...?"

"I don't know."

"Do you...?"

"I don't know."

Crowley frowned. "Do you know _anything_?"

"Not really," the angel admitted.

"Then, for once, do something and not worry about consequence. If the Plan's ineffable, it'll be what you're supposed to be doing anyway."

"That's not very logical."

"Why isn't it? What feels like free will could be, you know, pre-ordained."

"It's still free will. He just knows what's going to happen."

"So then, you're saying that whatever I do next, He knows it's going to happen?"

"Yes."

"So then He'll be expecting this." And without another word, before Aziraphale even had time to protest, Crowley leaned over and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"Crowley--" Aziraphale managed, sounding strangled, but Crowley waved a hand to quiet him.

"Now see, that wasn't too bad. We're certainly still alive," said the demon.

"I don't think your lot are going to be too happy with you," said Aziraphale, still sounding as though someone had him in a choke hold.

"Bugger them," Crowley muttered. "Don't you think I'm in enough trouble? They've got worse things to kill me for than running off and kissing angels."

"It certainly doesn't help."

"Bugger them," Crowley repeated, and leaned over and kissed Aziraphale again.

"But--" Aziraphale resisted, "how do you know this is part of the Ineffable Plan?"

"How do you know it isn't?"

"Because angels and demons should _not_ be kissing," said Aziraphale pointedly.

"But how do you know? For all we can guess, this is all part of the plan. You know, to bring about the reconciliation of Heaven and Hell. Or whatever."

Aziraphale looked doubtful. "But why? Nowhere is it written that Heaven and Hell are supposed to reconcile. It's ultimately going to be Heaven's triumph. You know that."

"Maybe Heaven's triumph will be to reconcile with Hell," said Crowley, but the angel looked unconvinced. He shrugged. "Or maybe it's His plan to turn a few of the fallen back to Him."

Now Aziraphale looked extremely skeptical. "You? Turn back to God?"

Crowley shrugged again. "I could be convinced. I mean, I've never been much for my current employer anyway."

"After six thousand years? Who's to say He'd want you back?"

"He's supposed to be compassionate and forgiving, is He not?"

Aziraphale frowned and studied his companion. "What could convince you, anyway?"

"This could." Crowley cupped the angel's chin in his hand and kissed him again, but Aziraphale still resisted.

"Aziraphale, trust me," said Crowley, sensing Aziraphale's reluctance, "you'd have to do something a lot worse than kiss a demon to wind up in Hell. And even if you _were_ to end up down there," he continued, "they wouldn't want you anyway. You're too much of a nancy for their liking."

Aziraphale frowned. "I am not a nancy," he said indignantly.

"Sure, Aziraphale," said Crowley, trying not to grin, "whatever you say." And he tugged Aziraphale's chin closer. This time, when they kissed, Aziraphale did not resist.

A few miles away, unheard over the sounds of the traffic, a nightingale sang again in Berkeley Square. It was a good omen, a reminder that everything happens for a reason, and that things happen exactly as they are supposed to.


End file.
